May 8, 2014

 

 

…and at the end,

the saviour waiting

at the pearly gate.

 

All creed and colour

passing muster.

All love replacing hate.

 

 

 

April 1, 2014

 

 

To moisten a look

that has become too severe.

To reach out and give comfort

to a love most dear.

 

To wash away grit

from a dust filled eye.

To recall a loss with

much more than a sigh.

 

To release the pain

of a sad goodbye.

To sympathise

and trust imply.

 

To show humanity

whilst asking for pardon.

To share grief together

in a remembrance garden.

 

 

March 15, 2014

 

 

The rust has set in

around ancient nails,

exposed to the elements,

holding fast, twisted rails.

 

and rotting gates, at the

entrance to sacred land,

where fading words

on tombstones stand.

 

A once beloved wife

lies unattended

on top of her man;

both long since ascended.

 

The headstone crooked;

their plot now overgrown.

No ancestor’s names visible

or sign of existence shown.

 

And dogs, no sense

of reverence share,

just run amok

and are unaware,

 

that on the land

where they prance and frolic,

are many generations

where respect is symbolic.

 

Some kin will not visit;

they shudder and swear,

preferring to remember

loved ones as they were.

 

And so different are those

who cannot stay away.

They come with weeping hearts

each and every day.

 

On a new plot lies

a multitude of flowers,

with messages of condolence

in the deceased’s final hours.

 

Yet, when grieving mourners

from the graveside leave,

a scoundrel in the shadows

is waiting to deceive.

 

He gathers up the best blooms

to take to his mother,

as a peace offering

for some guilt trip or another.

 

So still, now the graveyard

under a darkened cloud.

The final resting place

for it’s towns folk, proud.

 

 

 

 

 

 

January 2, 2014

 

 

…and in that instant,

 still feeling bereft,

 I knew from my side,

 you had never left.

 

 

 

September 6, 2013

 

 

When the salt in our wound

has washed away,

and the healing process,

stopped the decay.

We should feel blessed,

to be given the chance.

It’s only natures way –

the boil, to lance.

 

When the plaster of paris

has done it’s job,

and held firm the break

that made us sob.

And yet even years later,

when with oil, we anoint.

It’s always going to be

our weakest point.

 

When lovesick fever

confines us to bed,

and no amount of medication

heals our head.

We lay awake til dawn

and toss and turn,

recalling lost decades

for love we still yearn.

 

When the point of incision

cuts through the heart,

and arteries sever,

as we fall apart.

We build a defence –

a show for the world.

Though inside our cocoon

remaining, tightly curled.

 

When at the end of our days

and our heart beats no more,

and ‘Do not resuscitate’

says the sign upon the door.

And all the hell raising,

is now a thing of the past.

Yet, through agony and ecstasy

we lived life with a blast.

 

When deep in the ground

with our demons we’re buried,

and a life that was fast

is no longer hurried.

And although we may hammer

on the coffin lid,

only distant voices can be heard,

saying, ‘Farewell, see ya kid’. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

April 19, 2013

 

 

 

One cannot fail to be acutely affected,

sad news cuts through the heart like a spear.

One cannot fail to be knocked over sideways,

whilst wiping away a released held back tear.

One cannot fail to be instantly reminded,

that on earth, time is surely running out.

One cannot fail to feel ones mortality,

and wonder what life’s truly about.

One cannot fail to turn back the pages,

though, what’s there is still written in stone.

One cannot fail to be troubled by heartache, but

what’s done is done, now your life is your own.  

 

 

 

 

February 12, 2013

 

 

How many times can a heart be broken?

How much sorrow can one person feel?

How many loved ones have left us lonely,

nursing wounds that won’t ever heal.

 

How many years have gone by in limbo?

How many times for those days can we crave,

until the day dawns when we suddenly realise,

not quite so often, do we visit their grave?

 

 

 

January 11, 2013

 

 

I was with him only yesterday,

we strolled down the lane together.

He held my hand, as he always did,

we wanted the day to last forever.

 

We carried on down passing Cuthbert’s Mill,

then crossed the bridge to the other side.

We fed to the swans, some bread we’d brought,

as towards us they started to glide.

 

Such a joyous time of simplicity,

chatting with dog walkers nearby.

Not a care in the world, or so it seemed,

though today there’s a tear in my eye.

 

For now I walk the route with a sigh,

and no hand to hold but my own.

My love has gone on ahead you see,

leaving me here to walk all alone.

 

 

 

 

December 24, 2012

 

 

His sadness oozed out of every pore.

His loss, too great to recall.

Without his true love by his side,

a second wind he failed to install.

 

 

 

December 21, 2012

 

 

The weightlessness of heaven,

as souls from bodies rise,

to take their place in alloted spots,

without effort or compromise.

 

 

 

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